Bonds of the Broken
by T. F. Crosby
Summary: On a visit to a memorial, one Sky Knight learns that some bonds can never be fully broken, despite what one has done.


This popped into my head yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, a few days after seeing the new opening for Storm Hawks. I don't know why I thought of it, but I had to write it down. Part of the inspiration for this I owe to darkmistress in the shadows, whose story _The_ _True Color of Night_ has inspired me. No names are used, but it should be obvious as to who is involved.

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**Bonds of the Broken**

_Some bonds can never be fully broken, despite what one has done._

We visited the memorial today; all of us. It was another anniversary of their… deaths, I guess. Or should it be another anniversary of his betrayal. I don't know. Maybe it isn't fair for me to say that. I don't know why it happened, why he did it. I have so many questions; questions for him; for them; questions that will probably never be answered. After all, I can't ask them and I doubt I'll ever get any answers from him. But, then again, I've never tried to ask.

It was unusually cold this morning, for this time of year anyway. It wasn't gloomy; quite sunny actually; a few clouds, the white fluffy kind. I can never remember what they're called. Cumulocirrus, I think. I'll have to ask later. It was calm when we got to the memorial site. A breeze picked up a few minutes later. (I don't know why these seemingly unimportant details are important to me; enough so to record them.) The others didn't stay long, there was a lot of work to do; but I decided to stay just a little longer. I stood there wishing I could do more than just pay my respects. I wondered, as I spoke, if they could hear me. I asked if there was something I could do for them; something they weren't able to do before they died. There was no answer.

As I turned to go I heard something, someone. I continued on my way until I heard the sound of a skimmer approaching. I was twenty feet or so away when I heard it touch down and stop. I stopped and turned around. It was strange to see him there. I never thought that he would come. I wasn't sure what to do. Then I heard that something again; a voice, a whisper. _Don't go. Stay_. He drew his weapon and laid it on the seat of his ride. He walked slowly towards the memorial. Around his neck, on a silver chain, was a medallion; the insignia of his old squadron. It hung…sadly…against his chest, (He wasn't wearing his chest plate.)

We made eye-contact, briefly. His crimson eyes were empty. Not devoid of emotion, there was sadness—_sorrow_; but they were still empty, as if his very spirit had been drained out of him. He sat down in front of the memorial, his knees pulled up towards his chest. He clutched the medallion in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He stared at the carved stone in front of him, shaking slightly. And then, I heard—saw—something I never thought I'd see. I looked at his face closely. _Tears_. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Was this really happening?

I don't know what was going through his mind, but I could see the anguish on his face, in his eyes. This was not the same man I had faced in battle so many times. What I saw today was a man, a human being who had lost, who was grieving for something he could never have back. I watched him bow his head, pressing it against his medallion-clutched hands. I watched and listened. His tears were turning to sobs. He was weeping.

I heard him say through his sobs, _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. _He then said something I couldn't quite make out. Then I heard on the breeze, _Don't hate him_.

I looked at the stone and asked them, in a whisper, _What do you want me to do? _Then I heard on the breeze, _Forgive him._

He said something else as I turned back to him, though I couldn't quite hear it. I wanted to go over to him, but as I stepped toward him the loud cry of a bird drew my attention to the sky. A large red-tailed hawk flew past us, perching on a branch of the cottonwood near us. Three other hawks followed it, perching on branches above and below the other. I looked back at him. He was still sobbing, but he was now looking at the hawks. There was another loud cry; even the hawks turned to see the new arrival. It, too, was a red-tailed hawk, but this one had a red crest on the top of its head. (I have never seen a red-tailed hawk like that before, there was something odd going on.) Instead of joining the others in the tree, it perched itself on the stone, staring back at him. They stared at each other for a few moments, the hawk cried out. I swear on the memories of all fallen Sky Knights that the hawk's cry sounded like, _Hello, old friend_.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, he reached out with his right hand. The hawk stretched out towards him, calling softly, as he stroked the bird's red crest back. As ludicrous as it sounds, I know I heard the hawk say, _Please don't cry. It's been so long_. After a few minutes (I think it was a few minutes. At that point I had lost all sense of time.) he pulled his hand back and the hawk straightened, calling softly once again. He and the hawk turned to the cottonwood (I couldn't help looking myself) where the four other hawks had been roosting quietly. All four of them were looking right back at him. The one with the red crest called out. The four, in turn, called back, not to the hawk; but to him. They were talking to him. I didn't hear any words this time, but I know he did.

He stood up slowly, wiping his eyes; but the tears wouldn't stop. I watched as each hawk (the ones in the tree) called out and took flight. Each one glided past him; each touching his face, first with the tip of their left wing and then the right, as if wiping his tears away for him. I was mesmerized by what I was seeing. (It's common knowledge that this is not the normal behavior of the red-tailed hawk.) I stood silently, unsure of what to do.

He looked back at the one with the red crest still perched on the stone. The hawk, again, called softly to him. I'm not sure if I heard him right, but he said to the hawk, _Hey, Red_. He said it so softly I can't be sure. The hawk flapped its wings, taking flight. It glided around him touching his face as the others did; but doing so multiple times, before taking to the sky and calling out one final time. He wiped his eyes again, this time succeeding in squelching his tears.

He walked back to his ride, the medallion lying silently against his chest, and returned his weapon to its place on his back. As he started his ride he tossed a crystal to me and said, _I'd stay and talk, but I wouldn't want to miss dinner_.

I smiled softly as I watched him leave. I won't be able to see him, or think of him, in the way I did before, because today…today I saw something I never thought I'd see. Today, I saw him weep.

I now know, with no hint of uncertainty that we will win. But maybe, just maybe, we already have.

I will tell my squad about what happened today, but not right now. I wouldn't want to miss dinner.

**xxx**

He dropped the pen on the desk and pushed the chair back. He stood up, holding the crystal in his left hand. He closed his eyes briefly, then looked out the window. He swore, if only for a moment, he saw the red-tailed hawk with the red crest. He placed the crystal on the desk next to his notebook and started out of the room. He stopped when he heard the soft cry of a red-tailed hawk. Smiling to himself, he walked out towards the bridge to join his squad mates. He would tell them what happened today…_over dinner_.

**xxx**

So, there it is. This is a story about hope and forgiveness. I hope you enjoyed it.


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